A few nights ago, Papa Bear was on the phone with a dear brother in the Lord whom we both love more than I can express without altering the point of this story. After several minutes of talking, I heard words that both warmed and comforted my spirit.

“I love you too. Bye.”

Not, “Love ya!” But a clear, manly, “I love you.”

“I love that!” I exclaimed as he hung up the phone.

“You love what?” Papa Bear asked confused.

“I love that you love him enough to say the words. For some reason, I think that’s hard for American guys,” I explained.

And then I laughed to myself in remembrance of one of my favorite childhood stories. I’m sure it would be better if my dad told it, but I’m going to do my best. My point is that I love, and I have always loved, being part of the family of God.

It must have been more than twenty years ago. My dad was in his office, finishing up a phone conversation, when his new secretary walked into the room.

Oh my sweet little baby boy. You were conceived, carried and birthed in love. To look at you, to think of you, to imagine your future is joy. Your very existence is miraculous, and you have proven God’s will in my life.

You are nine months old and show almost no interest in crawling. You do, however, show an interest in walking. I’m not sure how I feel about that. You want to be big like your siblings, and they can make you laugh like no one else.

You lie in bed and talk to me at night, and I swear you can say “I love you.” And because I’ve let you stay up late with me while your daddy has been working nights, you now cry whenever I put you down. You snap out of it pretty quickly though. You’re still an easy baby to the core.

You have seven teeth, and you haven’t fussed over any of them. You’re my first picky eater though, and you prefer store bought to home-made (which you will get over soon enough!). You think holding very still with your mouth wide open is the same as giving a kiss. You nuzzle your head under my chin when you’re sleepy, and you pat my back to convince me to hold you longer.

I couldn’t be more thrilled that God gave you to me. And if I thought they would all be like you, I’d have the five more that your sister is asking about. Thank you for loving me unconditionally. I can’t wait (and still I dread it) to watch you grow.

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Merry Christmas to my sweet baby boy. I’ll never forget telling your daddy we were going to have a son. I thought, for awhile, that you’d be the only one. But this year we gave you a brother. You adore him, and your raring for him to wrestle. But you already love, love, loved having sisters. You call yourself “brother” more than any other name. Running a close second is “Batman!” When I’m sad or angry, you and Bay Bit say, “Mama, smile!” And I’m happy to say it works every time. You sneak into your sisters’ beds because you really love to be cuddled. But it doesn’t last long enough for sleep, and your Batman fighting moves soon get you kicked out. You have absolutely no concept of danger, and I’m endeavoring to keep you safe without ruining your wild man essence. You can do things I would never think you could do. You can carry a gallon of milk when it’s time to unload the car. But you need to know I’m watching, and if I forget to notice your strength, you’ll happily point it out to me. You’re a miniature version of your Daddy, and I feel like I know him better through watching you. You don’t waste much time talking, and even your prayers are short and profound. Lately, you pray, “Dear God, help me not to listen to the Devil. In Jesus’ Name, amen.” We’ve had a special relationship since the day you were born. I’d always wanted a son, but I had no idea how much I needed one. You call me Honey more often than Mama. And although I won’t clue you in on this now, you can get away with just about anything when you sweet talk me. I’m savoring your kisses while they last, and I know they’ll fade more quickly than your sisters’. But for now, you canbe a Mama’s boy. I love you, tiny man.

It’s finally Christmas! Aren’t you glad you left the presents alone and waited for Christmas morning?

You are my tiny bundle of feminine sweetness. Your walk alone is enough to make my entire day. Like your brothers and sisters, you’ve never met a stranger. Though, when I see you sweet talking the older men, I know you’re asking for gum…and chapstick.

You’re a fan of pink, like your sister, and you’ve never met an outfit you couldn’t accessorise.

You know the Lord’s prayer by heart, and you learned it before both of your older sisters. You pray every night for obedience (mostly that you’ll overcome your weakness for sugar). You say there is no reason to be scared, because God is always with you.

You love your brother, and you never neglect him to play with the girls. You call him “Bwuddar,” and I’m going to be so sad when your baby voice goes away.

You need your mama, and you can usually be found wherever I am. You’re independent when I want to help, and you insist on my help with I suggest you can do it yourself.

You’re dramatic and stubborn; you’re precious and loud. You are mothered and smothered by your sisters, but you still come running back for more. You’re a loving big sister to our Baby Bear, and you want him to do everything just like you.

I love the way you pucker your lips for a kiss, and I can’t go very long without one of your amazing, breath squeezing hugs. Your rosy cheeks color my world; I love you more than you’ll ever know.

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